


mea culpa

by Tamari



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Provost's Dog - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Mastiff Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/pseuds/Tamari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a difference between what she knows and what she /knows/. Sabine, after Mastiff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mea culpa

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce. Written for max, for Ficmas In July at Goldenlake (fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com)!

Unicorn District is classy. Sabine is a knight, a noble, but she doesn’t feel at home here. Her boardinghouse stifles her. It’s still better than staying at the palace, but not by much.

There is a statue carved of ice in the entry hall of her boardinghouse. She walks by it every time she leaves. It screams excess, even to a noble. The hedgewitch in charge of keeping the ice cool is snoozing on the job; the edges of the statue are dripping.

If she were a bard, she could compose a lyric comparing herself to the statue. She is melting, the edges of her composure slipping. But she’s not a bard. She’s a knight. And it can’t be a good sign that she has to remind herself of that so often. 

Sabine of Macayhill is a _knight._

She hadn’t loved it, not at first. Her spat with the king sent her far from Corus, into the hills, and while it was exciting to be somewhere new, she missed the grittiness of the city. But after she met Beka Cooper, her life turned around. The next few years were the best of her life. Sabine saved innocents, adventured, danced on tables with her lover, and carried on her life as it should be. She didn’t need to be married. She didn’t care about money, or nobility, or pride. She just wanted to be happy.

Sabine is a knight, bold and faithful and resilient. So when her world crashed down around her, she gritted her teeth and went on. 

It has been a fortnight since. She tries not to count down the days, but she can’t help it. She feels different now — everything feels different. Her life has been divided, a harsh line between _then_ and _now._ And of her time on this side of the line, most of it’s spent in pubs.

“You think you know a person,” Sabine says. “And then you find out you know nothing. You know _nothing_.” She laughs bitterly and slams down her mug. “Another.” 

The bartenders don’t talk to her anymore. There is nothing to say. It was supposed to be a secret, but now the whole city knows. And that means everyone knows about him. Everyone knows Sabine’s shame.

Not shame about Tunstall’s common background. Not shame about their relationship. No, the shame of betrayal. Betrayal follows her, haunts her every footstep. Matthias, Matthias, a harsh reminder with each stomp of her boot in the scummer of the Lower City. _He did it for you._

“Another.”

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

Sabine looks up, ready to snap. But it’s not the bartender. The woman looming over Sabine is Beka, in her street clothes, looking tall and serious as ever.

“I’ve only had a tankard,” Sabine says defensively. Beka doesn’t drink. Beka doesn’t understand.

“You don’t want to have a headache in the morning.” Beka flips her braid over her shoulder and sits down at Sabine’s table. “Have you eaten?”

Sabine hasn’t, so she lets Beka order food for them while she sips the dregs of her whiskey.

“You should be at home with your lover,” Sabine says. She tries to ignore the tight feeling in her throat when she says “lover”. 

Beka slides a plate of roasted pig across the table. “Farmer is out tonight. And I heard you were here. We haven’t talked in a while.”

Sabine could point out that Beka has been on duty and busy with Farmer. But she doesn’t say that. It’s Sabine’s fault, Sabine who’s been avoiding everyone who was involved in it. Beka knows, and Sabine knows she knows. Sabine looks up then, into Beka’s ice eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Sabine says. 

“Me too.” Beka picks at her food. “Do you think about leaving Corus?”

“I thought maybe the king—” Sabine grimaces “—might assign me out somewhere.”

“But not to the hills,” Beka says.

Sabine flinches. “No. Not to the hills.” She takes a swig, and the barley water soothes her scratchy throat. 

“Sometimes I think about leaving, too.” Beka sighs. “But I can’t give up being a Dog. It’s what I always wanted. What I want.”

Sabine can hear the _I think._

“And these are my people,” Beka says. “If I don’t look after them, who will?”

“Who indeed,” Sabine says. Beka cares too much. It’s a flaw that Sabine envies.

The pub is clearing out. It has grown late enough that respectable citizens should be in bed. Not that Sabine has ever had much interest in being respectable. She never cared when people spoke about her “bedding a common Dog” — and she had thought he didn’t care, either.

Beka draws Sabine’s attention back to her. “I should go. Do you…?”

“I’ll be fine.” Sabine smiles too widely. 

And then there is just Sabine, in an emptying pub, feeling out of place.


End file.
